home
you might think of return
and the beauty of your homeland
the beauty of your childhood
which doubtless lingers in your touch
your naked game
from bed to bed
slunk without recrimination
and somewhere in those sheets
you left your self respect
washed away
like a slough
i touched it and its virus
feel the fever in my chest
the burning pain that echos among the hollow thoughts
like obsession an echo never dies
it resounds in every wall where it lives its doleful reminder
and so it will
remove the sun from the woodland glades
and rend its fever humid and lifeless
colour the winter grey with my solace
dreams are slowly cursed
and anger like vipers rising
its hissing its monologue
in the split tongues of revenge
while time grows old